The trap is that work hard play hard feels like the alternative but it’s not. It’s the same thing with a weekend bolted on. You’re still earning the right to enjoy yourself. You’ve just given the reward a name. And you can never work hard enough. There is always more you could be doing. So the play part keeps getting pushed back.

That’s fine but it’s not very trendie.

I’m a little existential and maybe a little impatient. I don’t want to spend five days earning two. I don’t want to postpone enjoyment until I’ve hit some invisible target that keeps moving anyway. I want to enjoy my life while I’m in it, not after. And I don’t think that’s unreasonable. I think it’s honest.

Not everyone wants to live this way and that’s absolutely fine. We are all different. But if the extreme narrative is getting loud, slightly overwhelming and something feels off, sometimes it’s really quite nice and reassuring to hear the alternative that might just be a better fit.

What if enjoyment wasn’t something you get to eventually? What if it was something you practise now?

This is Vol. 1. The subject is permission. Because that’s where everything starts. Or doesn’t. That’s completely up to you.

Make the ordinary feel like something.

We have a weird all-or-nothing culture here. Ten pints or there’s no point. Saving money eating in or splurging when you’re going out. There’s no middle register. Everything is either practical or an occasion.

I grew up in a household where pleasure was very much ordinary. My parents would have a glass of wine at dinner, and it was completely normal. The bottle was never anything expensive but the ritual of it always mattered more than what was in the glass. The point was never the drinking for the sake of drinking. It was about marking the evening. It quietly said, this is worth sitting down for. Tasteful hedonism was very much around me growing up before I had the words for it.

The importance of this is really about making dinner together a non-negotiable. No matter how late it was. No matter what was for dinner, usually something incredibly simple. The point was that we made it matter.

Whatever your situation is, this is about having little rituals. Like using your favourite mug first thing in the morning. Lighting the candle even if no one’s coming. Open the bottle on a Wednesday. Laying the table even if it’s just you. Whatever your version of making an effort looks like, do it when there’s no reason to. It’s not about the thing. It’s about the ritual of doing it.

The ordinary moments are most of your life. If you’re not enjoying those, you’re not enjoying much.

The Trap: Thinking this is about the wine not the ritual.

Stop treating rest as a reward.

I’ll be honest, I still catch myself doing this. I am not the best at allowing myself rest. My work is my life and my life is my work so rest is hard to even recognise, let alone justify. The line between living and creating doesn’t really exist for me, so switching off feels like switching off from everything.

I’ve always been slightly envious of people who can binge watch something for hours and not feel a little guilty for not doing something “productive.” That’s their version of switching off and I respect it. As a creative person it’s not mine. I’ve never really known how to switch off. But what I have noticed is that some of my best ideas, my best work, my best thinking has come from the moments I wasn’t trying to do any of those things. Going for a run. Walking around aimlessly. Doing absolutely nothing with any particular purpose.

Which makes you think, maybe rest isn’t the opposite of building. Maybe it’s part of it. And maybe the reason we struggle with it so much is because we’ve been taught it has to be earned rather than just lived in.

The Trap: Even wellness got turned into a productivity tool. Rest and recover so you can go again on Monday. That’s not rest. That’s maintenance.

Don’t wait for the holiday version of yourself.

The one who orders the wine at lunch. Who walks slowly. Who sits in the sun without checking the time. Who doesn’t need a reason to enjoy a Tuesday.

I notice this in myself all the time. I come back from a trip and for about a week I still move differently. I eat slower. I notice more. I don’t rush. I feel like myself. And then London pulls me back into the pace and that version of me quietly disappears until the next trip. But that person isn’t a holiday version. That’s just me when I’ve given myself permission.

Live like you’re on holiday and you won’t need one as much.

Say yes often.

To the dinner. The trip. The thing you’ve never done before. The midweek plan your brain is already building a case against. Too tired. Too far. Too much on. Sometimes that’s true. But most of the time you’re just not used to giving yourself permission.

You almost never regret going. And if you do, you know not to go again.

Stop earning the weekend.

We treat Monday to Friday like something to get through and Saturday like a reward for surviving it. If you’re only living two days out of seven, that’s not balance. That’s a bad deal.

Stop explaining yourself.

You ordered dessert. You left early. You stayed late. You changed your mind. You booked the trip. You enjoyed the glass of wine. You don’t owe anyone a reason for how you choose to enjoy your life.

Stop calling it a guilty pleasure.

If it brings you joy it’s just a pleasure. The guilt is someone else’s, not yours.

Things you don’t need permission for but probably think you do.

You’re allowed to not have a five year plan. No one wants to tell you that the best plans are unplanned.

You’re allowed to change your mind. About the career. The relationship. The city. The thing you said you wanted six months ago. That’s not flaky. That’s paying attention.

You’re allowed to be ambitious and enjoy yourself at the same time. No one wants to tell you that you don’t have to pick one.

You’re allowed to leave something that looks good on paper. The job. The relationship. The plan. Paper doesn’t know how you feel at 7am on a Monday. It’s paper.

You’re allowed to have a glass if you want a glass.

You’re allowed to say no. Without a reason. Without an apology. Without a follow-up text explaining why.

You’re allowed to not justify yourself. Not the dessert. Not the career change. Not the Tuesday night out. Not the way you choose to live your life.

You’re allowed to care about how your life feels not just how it looks. You’re the one who has to wake up inside it every single morning.

You’re allowed to rest without being burnt out first.

You’re allowed to want less. That’s not giving up. That’s knowing what’s yours.

You’re allowed to want more. That’s not greedy. That’s honest.

You’re allowed to outgrow people. It doesn’t make you cold. Not everyone is supposed to come with you.

You’re allowed to be successful and still feel lost sometimes. Those two coexist more often than anyone admits.

You’re allowed to take longer than everyone else. Their timeline is not your timeline.

Permission isn’t something you’re given. It’s something you allow.

That’s Tasteful Hedonism. That’s Trendie.

Vol. 1. More coming.